Makeshift Surgery
by Hades Lord of the Dead
Summary: Why Anstruther is willing to drop everything to care for Watson's practice...


**Makeshift Surgery**

**A/N This is an expansion on something mentioned in my other fic, but you do not have to have read that to understand this. Hope you all had a very merry Christmas! Thanks VERY much to Catherine Spark for being a VERY ultimate beta reader! She had red lines and arrows and boxes and highlighting and EVERYTHING!  
**

"_Oh, Anstruther would do your work for you."_

_Mary Morstan_

_The Boscombe Valley Mystery_

"John." I shivered and curled myself further into the thick duvet I shared with my wife. "John... I think you're sick." I forced my eyes open and saw my wife's face drawn into an anxious frown above me.

"It's nothing," I muttered, already beginning to get up but before I had the chance she laid a refreshingly cool hand against my forehead. "Just a cold."

"You're running a temperature," she told me. "And you spent all of last night shivering. What was it you told me about yesterday morning, a flu epidemic?" Her pointed glare told me that I wasn't going to go on my rounds today without a fight.

"Mary," I reasoned, "It's nothing I can't handle, and I'm sure it will clear itself up quickly enough. And there are many more of my patients who'll be faring far worse than me. I can hardly deny them my help so close to Christmas."

"John, it's less than a week until Christmas. If you rest now then you'll be back up in time for Christmas Eve and maybe even before. If you go to work today you're going to be recovering for at _least _a week."

I sighed. I knew she was right, but was also painfully aware that my practice would suffer in my absence. Still though, as Mary had said, it was far better to be absent for a day rather than a week.

"Alright," I conceded. "You win."

* * *

"Doctor Watson, I need Doctor Watson!" I opened the door to Doctor Anstruther, the man who lived only a few minutes away from our own house, but who I had spoken scarcely three words to since we'd moved in about half a year ago. I had chatted with his wife, Rosanne, however, and we were on good terms. He too owned a practice, but his was deeper rooted than most, having been owned by his father before him, and which planned to be handed on to his own son, who I believed was called Jeremy.

"I'm afraid he's ill," I said. "Could I perhaps pass on a message?"

"Ill?" He exclaimed. "How the devil can he be ill, he's a _doctor _for heaven's sake! And no, I suspect by the time he's over the worst of his _illness-_" he used a mocking voice for the last word, making me bristle with anger, "- I highly doubt there will be anything of use he could do." With that he stormed away again, offering no further explanation.

I ground my teeth in frustration. What an _insufferable _man. At least Mr Holmes _acted _like a gentleman, this Doctor Anstruther was just a-

The sound of the soup bubbling dangerously interrupted me from my thoughts, and I abandoned my inner rant in favour of giving John something to eat.

"Was that someone at the door?" he asked, sitting up to sip tenderly at the piping hot mix.

"No one important," I assured him, and he gave a bleary eyed smile. "Now you're sure you'll be alright? Mrs Forrester wouldn't mind if-"

"Mary it's a cold, not the plague." he said, and I smiled, leaning down to take his half empty bowl. "Go see her, I know you look forward to visiting. Give her my best and please don't worry. It's not as though anything terribly interesting is going to happen whilst you're gone."

"I suppose you're right," I said, and left our room to put on my coat before going to visit my old employer.

"Goodbye John!" I called, opening the door. The only response was a sleepy grunt from the room above. I rolled my eyes before stepping out into the light flurry of snow.

* * *

_BANG, BANG, BANG! _The knocks on the door felt a like a very tiny person using a very real hammer to hit the inside my head. I stood up, and headed slowly down the stairs to the front door. _BANG, BANG, BANG!_

" 'M coming," I mumbled, slowly shaking myself awake. _BANG, BANG, BANG! _"I'm coming!"

I reached the door and yanked it open, eager to put whoever was knocking so furiously upon my door at ease. However this, as I soon found out, was exactly the wrong thing to do, as an instant after opening it a young man toppled onto me, covered in blood and breathing shallowly.

"D-dad?" He stammered, his eyelids fluttering. I half dragged half carried him into the kitchen. "Issat you?"

"I'm afraid not," I murmured just loud enough for him to hear whilst laying him on the table to see where the blood was coming from. He was shivering now, possibly from cold but more likely from shock.

"My father!" He leaned forward and grabbed me by the front of my dressing gown, "You need to tell... my father... where I am."

He'd fallen unconscious before I could ask him who he was, or even his father's name, but by this time I'd located his wound. It was a jagged gash to the right of his abdomen, and I quickly got a kitchen towel to put pressure on it and stop the bleeding. I knew this would not work for long though, he was losing far too much blood, and would need surgery. I also knew that despite what I had told Mary this morning, I was not what most doctors would consider healthy enough to treat someone, although of course I'd had to deal with far worse in my army days whilst performing surgeries. Still though, that was hardly ideal, and I briefly thought of calling out of the window for somebody to retrieve another doctor.

This thought was ended when I caught sight of the snowstorm raging outside.

* * *

"For goodness sake Mary sit down." I stopped my pacing for Mrs Forrester, who stood at the table in her kitchen rolling out pastry for mince pies. "It's not like you can stop the snow just by looking at it."

"I still think I should go back home," I said, looking out into the snowy night again. "What if John needs something or his condition worsens?"

"Come now Mary, I'm sure nothing will happen," she reassured me, her main attention still on the mince pies. "And you know we're more than happy for you to stay here for the night. Besides which I'm sure you're husband wouldn't want you to go out into this foul weather."

"He would if he got worse." Despite my unconvincing argument I knew she was right. John would never want me to risk my own well being for his, particularly for a reason which was so ungrounded. There weren't many men as selfless as him in the world, but that just made me worry even more. I knew that I would all night if I couldn't check on him.

Ten minutes later I was making my careful way through the frosted streets, wrapped warm in numerous woollen items foisted upon me by Mrs Forrester, to my home.

* * *

"Wh- what happened?" My head snapped up and for a brief moment I thought that it was just my imagination, or more likely my illness, which had conjured the image of my wife before me.

"He fell into the house," I explained, seeing her gaze directed at the young man on our kitchen (cum operating) table, and the used medical equipment beside him. I started walking toward her, but this must have been a bad idea because the next moment I was looking at the ceiling, a soft pair of hands supporting my head. I tried to speak but she shushed me.

"I think we can figure out for ourselves what happened," she murmured quietly, and I must have looked confused, for she then explained. "Doctor Anstruther is here, he came to ask whether we had seen his son."

"His... son..." I mumbled, letting my eyes close as I drifted ever closer to oblivion. "Anstruther?" Everything was fading to black, "Who...?"

An unfamiliar voice began to speak, but I was already falling into the darkness and couldn't make out his words.

"John!"

"Doctor Watson!"

The two voices, one very familiar, one very unfamiliar, were the last things I heard before I'd slipped into unconsciousness.

* * *

"We should get him to somewhere warmer than the kitchen floor." Doctor Anstruther said, "Where is your bedroom?"

"Upstairs." I said, "But the spare one is free."

We both carried my husband into the small bedroom, and lay him on the bed. His eyes were moving beneath his lids and he shivered uncontrollably.

"Get him under the covers, and try to give him some water," the healthy doctor in the room instructed me, before leaving to care to the other young man, who he'd informed me was his son. "I'll be back just once I've made sure Jeremy's stitches are in correctly. I'm sorry... for everything."

He hurried away, and I was stunned by his change of demeanour. He seemed apologetic, guilty even. I had no time to reflect on this though, as I began on the task of getting John into bed. Thank god I'd returned, for if I'd come any later then who knew what might have happened? He hadn't heard Anstruther knocking on the door and barely responded to my words when I was less than six feet away, just not seeming to take it in.

I felt a little riled that Doctor Anstruther hadn't trusted John's surgical skills, but then again, he wasn't aware of my husband's army history. Even if he was he probably wouldn't realise that it had meant dealing with far more than absence of equipment and illness.

I only hoped John would have the chance to see the other doctor's shock at his medical performance.

* * *

I woke up with a splitting headache and an uneasy stomach, in an unfamiliar bed. I opened my eyes and looked around blearily. There was a man at the foot of the bed.

"Who are you?" I mumbled. I had neither the energy nor drive to ask anything more polite at that moment.

"Michael Anstruther," he introduced himself. "It's nice to see you awake Doctor. I live just a few minutes away, I also own a practice."

"Oh." I said, attempting to piece this together in my aching head. Suddenly a memory from last night, (was it last night? I'd no idea how much time has passed) struck me, "The man I treated! He's your... son?"

"Yes." Doctor Anstruther replied, "I came to your house, to see if you'd seen anyone who might be him. No one answered the door and I was about to leave and search elsewhere when your wife arrived behind me. She opened the door, and when we came in we saw you both, after what must have been a very makeshift surgery."

"I apologise Doctor Anstruther," I said, with a cough. "I would never have thought to operate on anyone with so few supplies and in my current state, but there was no alternative. If he didn't get medical attention he would have bled out."

"No need for apologies," he replied firmly. "And please, call me Michael. The surgery was more than adequate and Jeremy is recovering faster than I could ever have imagined. If anyone should be sorry Doctor Watson, it should be me, as I fear that you'll be missing Christmas day on my account."

"Call me John," I said. "And please, don't worry; I'm glad that he's recovered." I sighed. "Though I don't know what my patients will do for medical care."

"I can take care of them." Michael offered. I was surprised.

"Well thank you, but I'm sure you don't-"

"No, it would be the least I could do. And not just today." At my puzzled look he continued, "I'd be happy to look after your practice whenever you need it."

"Well I- that is- if you're sure-" I was stammering, shocked by this spontaneous offer. "If- If you would let me repay the offer, some of the time of course, were you to fall ill." Michael smiled.

"Of course Doct- John," he corrected himself and I found myself smiling too.

_-Fin-_


End file.
